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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921104">To The Ends of the Earth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinaWritesGenFics/pseuds/LinaWritesGenFics'>LinaWritesGenFics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>17th/18th century, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bar fights, Bucket List, Do not repost, Emotional Discovery, England (Country), Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Feminism, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, Irondad, Irondad &amp; Spiderson, Marvel family, NOT STARKER - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform, Peter Parker - Freeform, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a curious lil baby, Peter delivers newspapers, Set in Europe (Great Britain), Slow Updates, Tony is a good dad, Tony used to be a shit person, Travel, historical feminism, i'm making it a thing now, identity crisis, idyllic countryside, is that a thing?, it should be, its okay hes better now, let's all travel the world! type deal, michelle being a badass, ned being a supportive friend, not always revised i'm sorryyyy, small town fic, spiderson, tony stark - Freeform, uhh, wishlist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:09:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinaWritesGenFics/pseuds/LinaWritesGenFics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony runs the town. Monopolizes the money, uses it to overcome the ghosts of his past. It isn't helping, though- eventually, his demons are bound to catch up to him if he just stays in place, stays confined, stays ignorant. He doesn't want to, but he feels as if it's the only choice he has.</p><p>All that changes when he meets a free-spirited adolescent paper boy by the name of Peter Parker, and this boy has a dream.</p><p>"Let's see the world, Mr. Stark!"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Banner &amp; Tony Stark, Michelle Jones &amp; Ned Leeds &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones &amp; Peter Parker, Ned Leeds &amp; Peter Parker, Peter Parker &amp; Pepper Potts, Peter Parker &amp; Shuri, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark, Steve Rogers &amp; Tony Stark, Tony Stark &amp; Avengers Team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Young and Pure of Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>First chapter. Wrote this after a hot cup of tea and a good night's sleep. Take that, insane insomnia.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fresh scent of autumn just barely tinged the air, as if it were more of a subtle essence than an actual season. Horseshoes clacked against cobblestone, as merchants and salesmen went about promoting their trade amongst the townspeople. Bustling passersby began giving bits and pieces of their attention to the shops surrounding them, whether the owners were selling artisan soaps that melted sweetly on your skin, or perhaps blackened hardware tools that left charred marks across whatever surface you placed them. </p><p>This young boy, however, paid his surroundings no mind.</p><p>A nestle of warm brown curls sat atop his head. He adjusted his cap time and time again as if it would fall right off of his head without his touch, and clicked his boots at the heel, observing the pattern in which he stepped.</p><p>One after another.</p><p>That was the way it should be.</p><p>With not a footprint out of place, the boy quickened his pace and merged with the crowd in the market center, before making his exit from the other side and grabbing a large stack of newspapers from a rack aside the street. Thumbing through his prize, he smiled giddily. Lo and behold, the town papers meant money in his pocket.</p><p>And money in his pocket meant a journey in his sights.</p><p>Stuffing the pages and pages of information beneath his brandy-hued coat, the boy sighed with content and watched ice crystals gently whirl around in the shape of his breath. Yes, it was a chilly autumn morning indeed, and these were the kind he treasured to the uttermost- new and invigorating and just prickling with opportunities for adventure.</p><p>Just as the teen was about to make a sharp turn on Glendale Avenue, another, burlier man practically slammed into him from where he had been rushing into the opposite direction.</p><p>"Watch it, you twat!" The man raised his hand to give the brunette boy a scolding. The younger male simply laughed lightly, before ducking under his arm.</p><p>"Pardon me, sir, but you really should slow yourself! There's quite the layer of sleet on these roads today," he chuckled as the older man grimaced, cursed under his breath, and made about his way. </p><p>Peter had never really minded the incessant unkindness of others, especially those who lived on Glendale Avenue. </p><p>Glendale was for the rich, those that had the shrewd little town of Chordwick under their thumbs, and the people in the palms of their hands. Even as a fifteen-year old boy, Peter knew better than to risk continuous provocation when it came to the elite society members that lived around this little branch of town. Instead, he desired to be a little sweeter to the families of the community, as they were often isolated without much hope of social progression, and of course that could make someone unhappy. Peter bit back another cheeky grin as he recalled his late mother's wise words.</p><p>"Hush, now," she would say as she brushed his hair on the porch swing out in front of their bungalow. "All the money in their entire world couldn't buy the happiness in ours."</p><p>A warm tear slipped down Peter's cheek, a relief to his skin which had grown cold due to the frigid weather. Peter shrugged and blinked it away, before, once again, hastening his route until he had made his way to a twisted ivory spiral surrounding an expanse of estate. The gate before him read 'Stark Stead' in that same alabaster color, and a large, luxurious mansion lay beyond its bars. Peter leaned forward and peered past the gate, hoping to see who inhabited the lush space for once, but, just as it had been so for the past five years of his life, the space was deserted and its keeper was nowhere to be found.</p><p>"Hm, maybe next time," the brunette chided optimistically before dropping a news article at the entrance with a slapping noise. </p><p>Just as he was about to be on his way, however, back to town and returning to the remainder of his paper path, a creaking noise suddenly caught his attention. Peter turned, facing the house again, as a man stepped out from the massive double-doors. He looked disheveled, tired- his clothes informed the teen that he had just woken up or something of the like.</p><p>"..'ello?'" The man asked gruffly, rubbing his eyes as if to rid them of their sleep.</p><p>Peter was the one who took another step forward this time, his mouth wide and gaping as he eyed the man once more. For five years, the mystery keeper of Stark Stead had been the pinnacle of Peter's curiosity, at least when it came to who was who in this little town. Now that the two were standing face-to-face, however, Peter was fraught without much to say.</p><p>"Mister..." his voice trailed off as the man, still on the other side of the gate and stepping off his porch, took a sip of his coffee.</p><p>"Stark," he straightened his posture, revealing a handsome stature. Peter couldn't believe the mysterious man in front of him was really even there. Cocking his head once more, he let out another icy breath from beneath his scarf.</p><p>"Well then," he began, brown eyes alight. "Mister Stark. Nice to finally meet you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Peek inside the Pinnacle of his Pondering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the infamous Stark Stead's gates are finally opened, and Peter Parker's courage may just spark an unraveling of a loner's heart.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The archive is being a bitch today, so I apologize for any errors -_- hhh<br/>Try and enjoy this hastily written piece of scrap.</p><p>-Lina</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter drummed his fingers on the older man's coffee table, ogling the mansion's interior with anticipation. There were cream-colored embellishments adorning every wall from top to bottom, and much of the furniture was made up of a classy suede material that added a rich dimension to the atmosphere. The smoky scent filling the air indicated to Peter that Mr. Stark liked his coffee dark and heavy. Personally, the teen boy had never been all too interested in the homeowner's beverage of choice, although he had often been fascinated with the process of its creation. His mind trailed to watching the coffee factory workers from where he would press himself up against the glass of the store on idle spring afternoons as a child.</p><p> </p><p>"Jarvis, get this boy some tea," a voice said suddenly, as Mr. Stark reemerged from where he had been collecting some files upstairs. Peter tilted his head up and lightly smiled, but the man did not return the gesture. Instead, he turned on his heels, signaling to the lanky butler behind Peter that he would be back momentarily. Peter just watched, unfazed, still recalling the events that had led him into the house not more than a few moments ago.</p><p> </p><p>He had been dropping newspapers off on his usual route and was just about to move on to his next destination, a plantation-style fixture where the infamous Glendale cherry trees grew, when the door to the Stark Stead had swung open and its owner, upon seeing the frigid state Peter was in, had invited him to warm up inside. The man reminded Peter of the house he kept, quiet and clearly the intuitive type. Peter referred to him as 'Mister Stark' and had hastily been lead indoors where he was seated at a jasper coffee table and introduced to a taller male by the name of Jarvis- Mister Stark's butler.</p><p> </p><p>Then, just as he was there, Mister Stark was gone, frequently disappearing upstairs or going to and fro from what Peter assumed to be his work office, seeing as there were faint typewriter clacks whenever Mister Stark entered, and words being muttered to himself whenever he left.</p><p> </p><p>Now, Peter had been waiting patiently for their drinks to brew, attempting small conversation with the butler but never succeeding to captivate his attention for very long. Propping himself up on one hand, the teen began to daydream, as many adolescents do.</p><p> </p><p>His mind drifted from the scent of drinks on the kettle to a salty breeze whipping his hair against his cheeks. Peter could not wait to see the ocean, his mind concocting an image of himself, standing over a cliffside and shouting his every thought into the wind. Peter pictured his two best friends at his side, Michelle Jones in a pair of trousers, curls flying out from behind her head as she spun about, finally free from the restrictions of Chordwick and its patriarchal society. Ned Leeds, Peter's other most trusted companion, would laugh nervously and tell the others to get back from the cliff, before attempting to pose playfully as close to the edge as his fears would allow him to go.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, if only the three of them could be there now!</p><p> </p><p>Just as he had almost completely lost himself amidst his visions of grandeur, Peter noticed a striking flash of brass sitting atop some drawers. His eyes went wide as he examined the spherical piece, he had wanted one for so, so long that an ache filled his heart at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>"Mister Jarvis, sir," he breathed, cheeks flush with wonder as he slowly stood up and approached the globe soundly accentuating the furniture. "I haven't had a look at these in ages; may I?"</p><p> </p><p>The butler's rigid gaze immediately softened as he gazed upon the boy. "I don't suppose Mr. Stark would be too irked, seeing as he did invite you here- he's not exactly friendly by nature, to be frank," the Mr. Jarvis gestured to the round object of the adolescent's affection, and Peter rushed over.</p><p> </p><p>"Woah!" Running delicate fingers over delicate carvings, Peter could feel his heartbeat increase with excitement and amazement. Ever symbol was etched into the metal with a sort of fairylike elegance, engraved letters stringing together foreign discoveries and constructing a truly marvelous compass rose.</p><p> </p><p>"It's quite the treasure, is it not?" Jarvis had already resumed preparing refreshments for his master.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, sir," Peter was already, once again, absorbed in some faraway wonderland.</p><p> </p><p>"There's Jamaica!" He pointed out, to no one in particular, unaware that a certain person was surprised at the paper boy's knowledge and never-ending tone of jubilee. "The vegetation there is simply luscious, not to mention the wildlife that can be observed in the nearby island of Puerto Rico! Oh, let me see if I can locate it. This incredible!" Peter scanned the globe as he conversed to and fro with himself, still attempting to pinpoint the tiny island to scale.</p><p>"Right under your pointer, kiddo," a voice suddenly said, and Pete's head snapped up, auburn curls along with it.</p><p> </p><p>"M-mister Stark!" Peter nervously stammered, just now acknowledging that his butler was no longer beside him. "Mr. Jarvis said it would be alright if I-"</p><p> </p><p>"Not to worry, it's really fine," the older man assured, with a seemingly forced chuckle, as if laughing were a most minimal habit of his. Peter just beamed, realizing that Mr. Stark had lead him to find his destination. "Ah! Here it is," Peter's eyes were grinning on their own, and, for a moment, something warm struck the older man like a pang to the heart, bittersweet.</p><p> </p><p>"You're right about Jamaica's terrain, I must say- it is quite the tropical area." Mr. Stark remarked, silently hoping his words weren't too aloof. The boy, however, paid no mind, instead leaping closer and subconsciously grabbing his tie.</p><p> </p><p>"You've been to the equatorial isles?" Peter was delighted. This man truly was fortunate!</p><p> </p><p>Sheepishly but gruffly, Mr. Stark nodded. "Any and all."</p><p> </p><p>"You must tell me about them! Were they splendid? Did you wish to stay longer, to see the sights and immerse yourself in the culture?"</p><p> </p><p>To say that Mr. Stark was taken aback by the articulation of this curious young adolescent was an understatement. Here was a boy with the soul of an iris, waiting desperately among its confinement to bloom. Something in him wanted to help to cultivate that spirit- and then his demons took hold, as they had done on so many dread-filled occasions before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Stay away from others,<i> they would say.
</i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i></i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i></i>
  </i>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>You're naught but a petty, greedy coward.</i></p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You know as well as we, Tony Stark, that you are heartless beyond belief. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You can't trust yourself.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"T-take a seat," the older man stammered to suppress the malicious thoughts hovering over him, and instantly, he and Peter were accommodated by Jarvis together at the prior table.</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"Is something wrong, Mister Stark?" Peter inquired. So he was intuitive. "You look a tad pale. Wait, pardon me, not in a bad way, per se," he stammered to cover it up. "You look quite fine, actually," Peter then cleared his throat and nearly burned it on his cup of tea. "Ack! That's scorching!"</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>Once again, Mr. Stark chuckled, a little more loosely this time as he watched the teenager hurriedly fan his mouth and blow on his drink before finally taking another sip.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"So, you want to see the world, huh, kid?"</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>Peter nodded with vigor. "More than anything, sir," he started earnestly. "Ever since my mother died and we lost our home, I've aspired to get out of here, to see exotic nations and take my friends along for the ride!" The boy practically shook the countertop as he spoke. "There are so many eye-catching places, and so much we as people don't know! Or at least I don't," Peter ended his sentence with a chuckle. "I can only hope to discover it someday."</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"So that's why you're out tossing papers, eh?" Mr. Stark was blunt in his musings. The man's mind traveled to where thousands of dollars lay stacked away on his third house floor, dilapidated and decaying in a well-hidden safe.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"Yes, sir," Peter replied firmly, before suddenly becoming aware of the time and leaping up. "Ah! I'm not going to finish the route in time if I stay for much longer," he grabbed his hat and things, before being escorted by Jarvis to the door. "It was wonderful, truly WONDERFUL meeting you, Mister Stark! I do hope we will cross paths again someday."</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"Wait," the older man suddenly found himself saying, forcing himself out of where he had comfortably relaxed in his chair. "Here, take this with you."</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>Fumbling through his coat pocket, Mr. Stark pulled out some maps of European nations. Between them was an abundant wad of currency. "Here," the man repeated himself once more. "Take it for your journey- I have no doubt you'll get there one day soon."</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>Oh, the light that overtook the boy's in the pearlescent splendor that was youth. He accepted the money gratefully, before shaking the older man's hand fervently. "Thank you, Mister! I'm truly grateful for your hospitality," Peter said, laughing in disbelief. He hadn't simply <em>stepped<em> closer towards his goal, he had taken a leap across the crevice of who-knew-what?</em></em></em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"Have a truly, truly good day," was the last thing the boy had said before turning and making his exit that day. Tony's eyes followed him to ensure his safety until the moment Peter had stepped off the premises, and then, the remarkable stranger had gone.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>It was as if they'd known each other for ages.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"Mr. Stark?" Jarvis inquired sharply from the kitchen, tugging the man away from his ponderings.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"What is it, Jarvis?" Tony asked the butler, not turning in case the boy where to come back, to continue rambling aimlessly about stories of a world that didn't appear so dark and twisted as in reality, but for a moment.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>"I've finished all that you have asked of me to do today. May I please return to the guest house?"</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>Sighing, Mr. Stark did not move from where he stood at the windowsill. "Yeah, Jarvis," he waved away his grateful butler. "Go ahead."</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>There was a creaking, and the back doors had been shut, leaving the owner of the infamously polished Stark Stead alone with his imperfect, unpolished dreams and demons.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>One day, he knew, they would catch up.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>His travels had failed to help him. What good could they possibly do for a naïve, effulgent boy who's mother was gone, now a mere wisp of a memory amidst the chilled autumn wind?</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>In a silent prayer, Mr. Stark observed the cold outside air with bitter chagrin.</em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em> <em>  </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The world's too cold for you, kid.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For crying out loud, please be careful.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Write and let me know what you think! I would also be happy to check out your work.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Under the Stars, a Soul Set Ablaze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Peter is told some news that sets his impression of Mister Stark askew, and secrets begin to unravel under the night sky.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone, my apologies as to the late update. Have this glance into the lives of Peter and his friends, as I sit here envying their relationship and missing what once was.</p><p>Unrevised, but slightly polished up.</p><p>-Lina</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Darn!”</p><p>Leaning down clumsily, Ned fumbled about from where he was bent forward and hovering above the hardwood floor. He had just completed a long day’s work, struggling with the proclivity to lose his earnings if he wasn’t careful in keeping track of them. Today, thankfully, he spotted the wad of cash out of the corner of one eye and strutted happily out of the factory, on his way.</p><p>Ned wiped the soot stains from his nose and sniffed the open air, relishing the cold sensation wafting below his nostrils and engulfing his lungs. The open sky was so clean, in contrast to dull mechanical tarnish all day, not-so-complemented by the scent of smoke.</p><p>The teen let out a sigh, wrapping his arms around himself and shuddering in the welcome yet icy chill. The sky was a blanket of ambient darkness, and a warm fire awaited him at home, though it was hardly a building worth being called that. Ned continued his weary path, contentedly gazing at twinkling stars as he followed them down a trail of mottled stepping-stones towards the sound of embers. </p><p>Once he had reached a rusted, ivy-covered gate that was far too flimsy for its own good, he peeked between the bars and gently cracked it open. The delightful sound of laughing and deteriorating firewood was louder within his range of hearing, and Ned showed his dimples as he smiled.</p><p>“Oi, all,” Ned shouted triumphantly as he approached a run-down stucco structure with a broken door. From inside, two figures hastily stood up.</p><p>“Neddie!” A young boy called.</p><p>“Peter!” The older teen beamed.</p><p>Ned and Peter flung themselves into each other’s arms in camaraderie, each trying to reveal their day to the other and simultaneously talking over themselves. Not long after they had started, a young woman with deeper skin and chocolate curls approached them smugly, a displeased expression on her face.</p><p>“You smell like shit,” she sniffed and pointed out. Ned just nodded and shrugged, his tone sheepish and a flush creeping across his cheeks.</p><p>“Well, yeah, MJ, I was stuck on packagin’ duty,” he answered, the lady still unconvinced. Then, just as it had appeared, the intimidating gaze was gone, now replaced with one of tender adoration for a loved one.</p><p>“Come inside, then,” she beckoned Ned and a still-chattering Peter back into the doorway. “I chopped us firewood, and Peter made soup and sandwiches,” MJ lightly tapped the axe she had leaned against the counter, tilting her chin up with pride. “And they say a woman wouldn’t be up for the job.”</p><p>Ned huffed, eyes twinkling.</p><p>“Hey!” a voice snapped the two out of their musings, and they turned to where Peter had meekly presented his dish before them. The three had never eaten much, and tonight’s dinner was certainly no exception. Despite how many basil leaves Peter had garnished the lukewarm soup with, it still barely filled up the bottom of the bowl. The sandwiches had been put together sparingly, and arduously divided between the three hungry adolescents.</p><p>Even so, MJ praised Peter demurely and Ned applauded his efforts. Somehow, whenever Peter would create even the simplest of meals, it would be done with care and comfort, despite the harsh and unkind upbringing the boy had tasted as an orphan.</p><p>“Wow,” Ned gestured to the chipped china Peter had placed the food atop. “This looks great!”</p><p>“Thanks,” Peter accepted the words giddily, eating them up as if they were dinner and taking them straight to heart. “Maybe I should cook for us more often?”</p><p>“Maybe you should,” MJ ruffled his hair, and the teen boy laughed. Though he was charismatic as ever when it came to his job as a paperboy, Peter had still maintained a presence soft enough to make the other two desire to nurture him at home. He never used his charming wit on them, instead earning their respect with his sweetness and willingness to do hard work, whereas in public his customers were none the wiser.</p><p>“Try it, please!” Pete shoved the plates, practically spilling them, into the chests of his friends. They both simply chided him not to do so with such eagerness next time, and sat down, delving into the meal as if it were a steaming tray of world-famous hot buttered buns and mash. Soon the chipped ceramic bowls were laid bare by the doorstep, to be washed and cooled later in the night. Heavy, contented sighs filled the air as the three teens lay back against cold stone.</p><p>“I had the most remarkable morning,” Peter breathed after a moment of silence. The other two glanced at him inquisitively, and Pete just continued with an amicable expression on his face. “The Stark Stead’s houseowner encountered me, a fine man, if I do say so myself,” Peter clapped twice for emphasis, palms brushing together. “Stoic, tall, and gruff, with tragedy seeping through his every pore, and yet… wealthy, eccentric, and charismatic.”</p><p>“To no surprise,” MJ interjected plainly. “That man and his whole family has puppeted the town’s finances for decades.”</p><p>To Peter, this news was somewhat pristine. “Really?” His eyes aglow, he cocked his head. “That explains how he had collected so many expensive decorations, and why his stories of travel appeared so.. lush.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Ned murmured. “The house always was rather fanciful. Perhaps the reason it was constantly empty was because of said travels,” he deducted, and the others agreed, feeling like philosophers or some sort because of their conclusion.</p><p>“I want to be like him, someday,” Peter said suddenly, and stood up, making his way to the front steps to stargaze. The others followed his lead shortly, watching each luminous orb flicker amidst the chill air.</p><p>“I wish I could call that aspiration an admirable one,” MJ breathed quietly. Peter gazed at her rich chocolate skin, her slender hands, her feminine profile and the way the moonlight bounced off of her cheeks. It was surprising she had not found a husband yet to many members of their hometown, but Michelle Jones had other plans, to write about the things Peter guaranteed they would see one day. Michelle Jones was going to be a journalist, right at her friends’ sides rather than some domineering nincompoop who worked in a dull office all day.</p><p>“Well, being rich doesn’t equate for having done bad things to obtain your luxuries,” Peter began, not defensively but inquisitively, and the others gave him the look of a cynic. </p><p>“Mr. Stark’s past endeavors are not ones to be meddled with,” was MJ’s reply, a far-off gaze in her irises that set Peter’s curiosity ablaze. What on earth had Mister Stark possibly done that was so horrid, so deceitful, so dreadful that it cast that look across Michelle’s face? What made Pete’s friends’ suspicion escalate to such a degree where they didn’t even want the older man anywhere near him? Surely, he wasn’t that cunning a businessman.</p><p>“Right,” Peter nodded, choosing to trust the words of his friends, for now. “Stark is a mere customer of mine, one I should hope never to see again if what you’re saying is true,” the brunette finished and leaned against Ned’s shoulder, eyes still turned towards the atmosphere.</p><p>Michelle sighed with relief and got up, beckoning Ned to come inside. It was their turn to wash their articles of clothing, which were few and far between, but lace and heavy fabrics nonetheless. MJ could be heard wrestling with her sole pair of stockings as Ned tried to figure out the proper way to turn a petticoat outside-in, the two somewhat expensive things the group owned.</p><p>Soon, they would sell the clothes, in order to make enough money and leave that crooked old building, as well as the quaint confines of their town.</p><p>But first, Peter had another trip to make bright and early the next morning, and no ill words or harsh rumors being spread about Mister Stark and his manor were about to stop him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Old Grievances and New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Peter and Mister Stark find common ground amidst two tragically different backgrounds.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>have some angst, you sappy little shits<br/>-Lina</p><p>(crazy important psa at the end of the chapter. i'd honestly rather you read it than my actual work, so if you get bored just scroll down)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crack of dawn had hardly emerged, sunlight barely shining behind the hillside as Peter jogged excitedly down the path of stepping-stones that led away from his friends’ lodgings. Trekking through verdant ferns dripping with opalescent dew, the brunette boy eagerly brushed the faintest hint of sweat from upon his brow as he made his way past the edge of town, past neighborhoods so silent it was suffocating, and through cloud after cloud of icy fog before stopping just across the pristine pavement of Glendale Avenue to catch his breath. A large manor stood before him, all-too familiar, radiating coldness and yet warmth.</p><p>Peter smiled, slight crow’s feet becoming apparent as he did so, a faint and eager redness to his cheeks in the bitter frost.</p><p>“Time to get some answers, Pete,” he chided himself all-too eagerly whilst crossing the street.</p><p>Peter had no wits about him as he climbed the gated entrance to the house with nimble balance, until he had swung over and landed on the other side, praying that the other man’s compassion would excuse his overzealous actions. Even so, Peter had a strange clenching in his gut, something telling him the man who owned Stark Manor would most definitely understand. He continued on his way, rapping against the door with a sharp knock.</p><p>Not too long after, the entrance creaked open and a tired eye peered out from inside the establishment, looking the boy up and down.</p><p>“Mister Peter?” A familiarly jovial voice seemed hoarse in the early light. “What brings you here so soon?”</p><p>“My apologies, Jarvis,” Peter bounced on his feet as the butler escorted him in. The house’s warmth was like a quilt, draped over his shoulders and bellowing with hospitality, and yet somebody’s presence was missing.</p><p>“I’m not here to bring papers, actually,” sheepishly, the younger boy went on. “You see, I didn’t mean to wake you so early, really, I didn’t, but a question was making my heart ache and I sincerely couldn’t bear it-”</p><p>“Never apologize for exhibiting curiosity,” Jarvis simply said. Peter’s eyes glistened with hope and earnest as the butler finished. “No matter what time of night or day.”</p><p>Now reassured, Peter nodded firmly. “That’s right.” He glanced to the side, at the globe. “Say, where is Mister Stark today- is he still sleeping in the upper quarters?”</p><p>Sighing, Jarvis shook his head. “He is, unfortunately, quite busy at the moment, as Mister Stark has chosen to spend the morning at the cemetery.”</p><p><em>The cemetery?</em> Peter’s heart dropped to his gut, memories coming back, memories that struck tremors into his hands and agony into his chest. Drawing a harsh breath, he was grateful when Jarvis had gotten up to offer him some tea.</p><p>“Thank you,” Peter murmured sweetly once he had collected himself. He let the hot liquid burn his throat on the way down, anything to keep him from choking on his voice in front of Mr. Stark’s butler. Jarvis merely sat back at his seat, calmly stirring sugar cubes into a cup of his own.</p><p>“Sorry, I-” Pete stammered anxiously after a while. “My mother passed when I was rather young, and I do tend to freeze up when the issue resurfaces.”</p><p>“No matter,” Jarvis, once again, excused the boy freely. “I can tell you are doing your best to assuage yourself. The fact that you shared such a detail means something, it does indeed.”</p><p>Peter supposed he agreed, he did try to be rather open about his feelings. Unlike Ned, who preferred to sort matters out from a logical perspective, or Michelle Jones, who bottled her emotions until she couldn’t bear it, the teen had always liked sharing, even if, at certain times, it brought his heart sorrow.</p><p>“Is he lonely?” Peter piped up. Jarvis set down his spoon with a light clank and nodded.</p><p>“I would hate to lie,” was the butler’s forlorn reply. “For he is, and very.”</p><p>This saddened Peter slightly, but not for long. The boy stood up, inspired by his common ground with the grieving man who had also awoken far too early for his own good, and ignored Jarvis’s wandering eyes as he approached the door.</p><p>“I don’t want Mister Stark to be lonely,” Peter stated. Jarvis had a look on his face the young man couldn’t explain as he continued. “I want to try and go talk to him.”</p><p>“Wait,” Jarvis protested, but Peter was already determined to help Mister Stark in any way he could, and a little chilly weather was not about to stop him. He turned to thank Jarvis for the tea and say his goodbyes, but instead found the lanky butler holding up a stable key.</p><p><em>Horses. A carriage,</em> Peter mused.</p><p>“Wait,” Jarvis repeated once more, gesturing towards another door. “It’s frigid, and the weather will be like this all day. Allow me to drive you.”</p><p>~</p><p>Jarvis dropped the young boy off at the cemetery’s outskirts, no words being exchanged between them in the meantime. Only farewells and a firm awareness that Peter was merely doing what needed to be done. He was going to get answers to his questions, and, in the process, potentially help a soul in need. Peter made his way down a grassy knoll, sloping gently towards a gravelly pathway lined with lilies and soaked with the first few traces of rain. The sky overhead was a dull bluish grey, periwinkle clouds like fairy floss rolling slowly across the sky.</p><p>Peter understood that maybe Mister Stark wanted to be alone, and if that were the case he would immediately depart from the area. However, deducting from what the boy’s past encounters with lonely people had taught him, Peter doubted that would be the case. Even so, he had an umbrella from the manor on standby if he needed to make a trip back to his home without assistance.</p><p>The brunette was not walking for long when he noticed a silhouette, the only figure amongst desolate tombstones of marbled grey, bent and whispering over a flat plaque embedded on the ground. He appeared to be aimlessly muttering to himself, his words meandering between grief, regret, and sorrow, pleading with the name inscribed for some forgiveness. A few more lilies, which had been roughly torn from the roadside behind him, lay dismally across the plaque’s perimeter. Peter plugged his ears and waited to give the man a few more moments of privacy.</p><p>Once Mister Stark had finished, he looked up to see a sprinkling haze of precipitation lightly dusting his surroundings with more rain. He sighed, ready to get up, and stopped.</p><p>“Mister Stark?” Peter called, as the man froze, turning to the teenager running in his direction. Panting from the exertion, Peter pulled out the umbrella and quickly opened it over the headstone, preserving the flowers and phrases with a beaming smile on his face.</p><p>“K-kid?” The older man stuttered, trying to regain his composure. <em>How long had the boy seen him like this? How long had he listened to him talking?</em> If it weren’t for such a comforting expression gracing the adolescent's features, Tony very well may have lashed out in anger for violation of his privacy. Nonetheless, he sighed and rubbed his temples for a moment.</p><p>“What- what are you doing here?”</p><p>Peter spun the handle of the umbrella deftly between his fingers. “I wanted to be there for you,” he answered bluntly, and Mister Stark was taken aback. “You seem in the need for some company, and I get the pain of recovering from loss.”</p><p><em>Ohoh.</em> Stark chuckled bitterly. “Alright, kid, I don't think so. What do you <em>actually</em> want from me,” he began, defenses up and fortified. “More cash? I didn’t bring any on me, hate to break it to ya.”</p><p>Peter just shook his head.</p><p>“I have a question- for you, sir.”</p><p>Mr. Stark cocked a brow, half-curiously.</p><p>“Hit me.”</p><p>And hit him with his words, Peter did.</p><p>“What did you lose to your decisions?”</p><p>There it was. The scent of booze, burlesque bodies and gruff laughter from across the table. Poker chips. Late nights. Coming home with briefcases of cash or handing them away with reluctance and shame. Tears hitting hardwood. Fists hitting granite. All of it, coming apart like lilies wilting amidst a winter storm.</p><p>Mister Stark was lost for a moment, his mind holding him hostage, deep brown eyes glassed over- Peter was patiently waiting, umbrella still held staunchly over the gravestone, as he got his reply.</p><p>“Everything.”</p><p>Silence settled between the two, until, as if they shared a simultaneous thought, the teenager and the businessman both took seats in front of the graves just inches away from them, letting the canvas overhead shelter them from the now-pouring rain. Sighs echoed through the air every once in a while, but the compassionate gaze in Peter’s eyes never vanished.</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me, sir,” he shrugged after a while. “Just know that I understand. Your decisions are in the past, and while it is alright to grieve them, they don’t define you.”</p><p>Mister Stark closed his eyes.</p><p>“Tony.”</p><p>Peter turned his head inquisitively. “Pardon, sir?”</p><p>“My name’s Tony. Tony Stark,” Tony gestured to the headstone so that Peter would fixate his amber gaze at the message atop it.</p><p>
  <em> Here Lies Pepper Stark, beloved wife of Tony Stark </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “To the ends of the earth we could go, and yet in each other alone we will find solace.” </em>
</p><p>Both men were silent. Peter reached out tentatively, placing a gentle hand upon Mister Stark’s shoulder.</p><p>“I’m sure she would want you to be happy,” the brunette smiled, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Tony’s heart ached; why was a kid from the streets that had never once tasted privilege, let alone love, so… compassionate to him? Why did his words resonate so deeply, and why did the two men, one young and naïve, the other an older and broken spirit, seem to empathize with each other so much?</p><p>Tony huffed, taking a peek at the sky. “You might be right, kid.”</p><p>A comfortable silence blanketed the two, and there was only the sound of rain and the occasional rub of one another’s shoulder for a while. At one point, Tony had reached out from where he was seated and ruffled the kid beside him's hair. Something about it made Peter giggle, and the two exchanged small smiles.</p><p>“Mister Stark?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>Peter looked conflicted and so hopeful, Tony just wanted to protect him from the world. From any demons that might touch the precious boy.</p><p>“Mister Stark.." Pete said again, his tone shaky but his eyes sincere.</p><p>"..will you come and see the world with me?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh look. you made it this far.</p><p>please check out these websites to help and support asian-americans during this crazy-ass time. the racism is real and it's fucked up, just copy and paste into your browser. thanks for reading my shitty story<br/>https://www.aafe.org/who-we-are/our-history<br/>https://blogs.brown.edu/ethn-1890v-s01-fall-2016/<br/>https://www.cnbc.com/2021/03/18/how-to-take-action-against-anti-asian-racism.html</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Of Demons and Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the journey begins soon.</p><p>-Lina</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tony Stark had never been so uncertainly certain in his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to go, to</span>
  <em>
    <span> let</span>
  </em>
  <span> go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet something was holding him back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It loomed like a dark cloud over his conscience, meddling with his every thought and making them indistinguishable from one another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And if I were to say yes? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The man thought, pacing across the manor’s parlor, his breathing gruff. The trip to his home had been strangely silent and yet his mind seemed to be screaming the entire duration, and continued past his doorstep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I barely know the boy. I barely know him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tony chided himself and pinched the bridge of his nose, before tentatively running a hand through his hair. His brow had been furrowed for what felt like ages, and the darkened sky outside was of no assistance to his mood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If he had spoken to me for just a few short minutes more, Peter would hate me. He would also understand why I hate myself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But how could he rebuff such an innocent spirit? Surely, Peter was well-intentioned. The boy was blatant and spritely, someone who took delight in the littlest of things life had to offer. Tony could tell; the trials of his own adolescence had shaped him into quite an astute judge of character.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But was he being serious? If I go… </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tony thought back to Peter’s hands running over that globe, one the elder man himself had never given much of a second thought to. How Peter’s eyes had illuminated at the faintest of a description from lands afar. How Peter’s smile never seemed to wither, and only grow wider when given the slightest opportunity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps he desires company, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mr. Stark reasoned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and the only sliver he has currently is mine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, that couldn’t be right. The boy had friends, how could someone who exuded inner warmth to such an extent be that alone? Peter had to have sought the older of the two out, to pursue a friendship, to desire to be in the man’s company.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I’m a means of funding to him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought was ridiculous and it was soon flung somewhere out an invisible door. There was no way that boy would use someone of Mr. Stark’s stature for money and not for wisdom and camaraderie, as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Stark had experience, an inheritance, and was cunning but devilish and bold. He could outwit the boy easily, and was sure that the both of them knew. Peter couldn’t pull any hat tricks. He wouldn’t, it went against a moral compass made of gold and kept intact beside his very soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only one reason that Tony had been asked to go with Peter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter, somehow, sincerely wished to go with Mr. Stark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still taken aback by the aberrant decision made by the younger man, Tony stood still, and let out a drained sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where could he go to escape?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been to many far-off places before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While they were beautiful, he had still felt alone amidst the foreign vegetation and the fresh, endemic cultures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tradition, uniqueness, discovery, adventure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Four words he hadn’t thought of in a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony was a rich man in a poor state of mind. Surrounded by underserved wealth, he had hit rock bottom and let gold slip through his fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kind of gold can never be reformed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Remade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did the infamous Tony Stark need to be remade?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had gained the world and lost his soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had traded purpose for scrupulosity and materialism, and let the things that genuinely mattered go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony Stark was not himself, rather a shell filled with the demons birthed by his regret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had hit rock bottom, surrounded by the most precious gems of all time and yet they had meant nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing mattered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up his coat, the man walked briskly out the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was time to be built, to invent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>To go, and to let go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was time for Tony Stark to be remade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain pattered softly against the foliage and soil as Peter watched it all unfold behind a window, his dainty finger poking at the glass. It drew shapes in a cloudy forming fog, painting a hill, a mountain, a great gully that led to a cerulean sea. Peter could picture it vividly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If only, he mused, he could feel it and smell it and hear it and taste it all, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile twitched at his lips when a knock sounded from behind the door- the new door, built to bring shelter from merciless winter rain. Ned had recently constructed a makeshift entrance to the worn-down structure that he, MJ, and Peter lived in, though it was barely even deserving to house a single person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Add two others and it was nearly impossible to maintain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even so, in their poverty, there was prosperity, and Peter had bounded over to the wooden hatch in an instant, hoping to greet his friends as they returned from work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello-o,” he swung the rickety thing open and was immediately blasted by the rain. Peter’s voice fell just short of passing his lips, for his friends were not the ones standing outside that moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They must still be at work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sir,” Peter looked up with wide eyes, as none other than Mister Stark sputtered in the bitter storm. The poor man looked soaked, shivering beneath heavy lavish layers that had been soiled by the harsh outdoors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony was astounded at the teen’s living conditions. Peter resided… here? Tony’s breath hitched in disbelief. Peter simply stepped aside and let his guest in, too, before closing the door at a crooked angle. Tony was still in a state of shock, partially due to the weather, and took a seat on some old stone steps with a hazy look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright sir?” The younger boy asked timidly. Tony shook his head, a hand on his knee, tapping hastily at the fabric of his pants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“N-no. I mean, yeah, I am, I just..” Tony sighed, and Peter shook his head with a playful laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want some tea? It’s not very flavorful, but it’ll warm ya up real nice,” the boy offered, as Tony took off his coat and laid it beside him. His hat came next and he nodded, smoothing down a few stray hairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, kid, and thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter nodded cheerily and was off, leaving the older man in silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was he really about to do this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rely on a kid to give him a second chance at life?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was then that a few raindrops hit his forehead, and Mr. Stark glanced up at the ceiling. It was covered in poorly patched-up leaks, and pails dotted the floor left and right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hah. Maybe I’m giving him his.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bitter chuckle escaped Tony’s throat. No child should ever have to live like this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are his parents? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The man wondered and glanced around a tad. A few dresses lay half-mended on a chair, beside some open, tattered journals and a couple feathered quills. It appeared as if someone else lived here. A woman, possibly an aspiring novelist, and a man about their age.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here you are!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony was snapped out of his assessment as Peter handed him a warm cup brimming with hot liquid, hands a might shakier than usual. Mr. Stark gratefully accepted the drink, and Peter sat down next to him with that smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, ah,” he stammered awkwardly. “How’d you find out where I’m living?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony huffed. “Kid, this isn’t living, you shoulda told me. And I asked Jarvis, he had seen you round these parts while running errands once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” Peter nodded, laughing with relief and not suspicion. Tony turned and sipped his drink. Bland, and watery, but just what he had needed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the tea,” the two chuckled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if we can even call it that,” Peter grinned, tapping his own cup with his thumb, “but we say it anyways.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You gotta make do,” Tony shrugged as Peter nodded while taking an eager sip and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The boy had gulped down more than he had expected, and was now coughing up a storm of his own as Tony bit back a laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Slow down there, kid, I get it, you’re thirsty,” the two gave in to their amusement and chuckled heartily at that, before Peter lightly flicked some tea at Tony.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you are too,” the brunette urged, pointing out how Tony was still shivering slightly. “So drink!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony rolled his eyes teasingly. “Alright, alright, your wish is my command,” he said with an accent and Peter choked on his beverage again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two continued with poorly-done impressions of each other and exchanged light banter for a while, until the indigo sky had faded to black and the rain had ceased. It was then that Tony cleared his throat, lighthearted tone disappearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I came here to thank you,” he started. “Real quick, can I put a hand on your shoulder?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter grinned. “Sure thing, Mister Stark! Thank you for asking me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony nodded. He greatly valued consent despite the minor gesture. Reaching out, he lightly patted Pete’s arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were a real comfort to me that other day,” he half-muttered, words failing. “And- and seeing you live like this-” he turned and gestured towards their surroundings, Peter listening, “-it really tears me up inside, kid- you don’t deserve it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking a few deep breaths, Tony put his fingers to his temples.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve lost a lot. And I’ve made some bad choices. But I came here to ask you, ask you if you…” his breath became shaky and his hands trembled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voices in his head were back again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t trust him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s using you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone you see as family leaves you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Die, die, go throw yourself in front of a damn carriage.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone wants you gone, everyone’s lives are better here without you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you…” Tony continued despite feeling a headache coming on. Peter was silent, his gaze intent as the two met each other’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you could give me a shot,” Tony concluded, before waving his hands in the air hastily. “Not like, ah, the alcohol kind, the kind you give to someone bleeding and broken inside and-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I know what you mean, Mister Stark,” Peter reassured him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With relief, Tony exhaled and toyed with the fringe on his rain jacket, before dropping it again and letting his gaze meet the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...great.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two fell into silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So…” Peter piped up after some time was taken to think, having finished up his tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony took a sip of his own again, but it was cold. He set it down with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink </span>
  </em>
  <span>as the storm outside finally subsided.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to go with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s jaw dropped to the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was he hearing things?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean…” his mind had not caught up to his mouth quite yet- thankfully, as if the older man knew this was the case, Tony continued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’ll fund our travels, pack my bags, leave everything at Stark Stead behind. I’m tired of living here, always doing the same stuff inside the same house with the same… </span>
  <em>
    <span>demons </span>
  </em>
  <span>constantly screaming and trying to haunt me,” the older man wiped his chin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need this, and I need to help you-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter was overjoyed. He simply couldn’t believe it, so instead he asked again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll really do it?” Peter was practically squealing. “You’ll really make my dreams come true- leave all that you have behind?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony just inhaled, apprehensive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The air tastes less bitter than before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, kid, anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What had been in that tea? Peter could barely believe what Tony was saying. The wealthiest man in town had agreed to leave reputation behind and pursue adventure? The man he so admired was choosing spontaneous, wild travels over a home so safe and comfortable?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter could not believe his ears, but he was at no loss for words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would love it, I would love it!” He shouted delightedly, not noticing the other man’s soft smile at his glee. “We can bring your globe along, make bonfires beneath constellations, change ourselves for the better-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going on here, Peter Parker?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That voice, sharper than a double-edged sword, turned Peter and Tony’s heads forward as if they had been on puppet strings. The door in front of them had been opened and inside stepped a woman and man that only Peter recognized.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Peter,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the woman repeated, seething with rage. Her gaze was directed at Tony Stark, a protective hand in front of the sweating man behind her. He looked like he would retch at any moment, Tony thought, and the woman glared down at him, with brown irises as menacing as freshly-sharpened daggers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Peter. Benjamin. Parker,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the woman’s voice was quiet now, and low. She pointed one slim finger at the older man next to her friend and narrowed her eyes furiously as ice escaped her lips.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she hissed, "the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>is he doing here?”</span>
</p>
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